


no special privileges

by gravitycentered



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cisswap, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Roommates, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators, girl!Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravitycentered/pseuds/gravitycentered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Looking for literally anyone who needs a room. Rent is 330.00, due by the 2nd of every month. Only requirement is that you plan on staying for a while if we get on. Internet and Tv included, shared toilet and kitchen, you buy your own groceries. Less than ten minutes walk to uni, No discrimination and the sooner you can move in the better, email me and we can set up a time for you to see the room. My last flatmate moved out on me right before rent’s due and I need someone ASAP</i>
</p><p>Louis puts out an ad for a flatmate and gets a response from a friendly bloke named Zayn. Who turns out to not be a bloke at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no special privileges

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was meant to be super short and its only purpose was to fill the gaping hole in the fandom where louis/girl!zayn fics should go. somehow i wrote 10k of this. if you know me this is really surprising especially considering it didn't take me 14 months to finish!!!! 
> 
> i should mention: there is sex (duh) with no condom usage, just mention of an IUD. we can all pretend STDs don't exist #fanfiction
> 
> also, no one beta read this, so if you find any typos they are all my fault. also please tell me about them!!!

Scott breaks the news five days before the next month’s rent is due. 

“We both knew this was just temporary, mate,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. The situation is reminiscent of a breakup. “Julie’s got over it, fuckin’ told you she would. To be honest she’s been acting like she’d let me move back in since last week, but I wanted her to sweat it out a bit, you know?” 

“Right,” Louis says. His eyes are closed, and there’s a tiny pinprick of pressure in his left temple that may begin growing soon. “I know we said temporary, but I thought— I _assumed_ you meant “longer than a month” kind of temporary.” 

“Listen, I’m not gonna lie to you, if you took weekly payments instead of monthly it would’ve been shorter than that,” Scott shrugs. He’s got an overnight bag ready, halfway engaged in the conversation and halfway out the door. “You can keep the deposit though, yeah? For your troubles. Get you through the next month til you find someone else.” 

“Cheers,” Louis says, nodding to himself as Scott strides out the door, slamming it behind him. On his way down the stairs of the complex, Louis hears him yell, “I’ll text ya when I’m coming for my things!” 

 

\--

 

“Prick,” Louis sighs, navigating the archives of the university’s housing postings to find the one he made just last month. The likelihood of finding a flatmate a quarter of the way through the term is rather low; the postings have thinned out dramatically since the first time Louis posted, both for those offering and those requesting a place to live. 

Scott was meant to be a temporary fix right from the start, but “temporary” has proven itself to vary widely in meaning from one person to the next. Louis figured that “temporary” meant “until the end of this term.” Without half the rent coming from someone else sharing the space, Louis can’t even begin to afford his current flat; his half alone drains his bank account down into the double digits most months. On his current salary, paying the full rent by himself would mean living on discounted canned soups that’ve gone off and the metallic tasting tap water from his kitchen sink. 

Once he finds his original post, Louis decides to scrap his plan of just copying and pasting the same words with a new date; he doesn’t sound nearly desperate enough. Opening a new form, Louis fills out all the details and types: 

_Looking for literally anyone who needs a room. Rent is 330.00, due by the 2nd of every month. Only requirement is that you plan on staying for a while if we get on. Internet and Tv included, shared toilet and kitchen, you buy your own groceries. Less than ten minutes walk to uni, No discrimination and the sooner you can move in the better, email me and we can set up a time for you to see the room. My last flatmate moved out on me right before rent’s due and I need someone ASAP_

Feeling suitably pathetic, Louis clicks “Post” and immediately tabs to his email, refreshing the page as if someone could’ve replied already. Really, the uni is more like a 20 minute walk and rent is regularly 350, but Louis figures he can skip the takeaway once a month and pitch in an extra 20 quid if a cheaper price will get him a flatmate. The last post he made - during prime real estate season for the flats outside campus grounds - only received four responses. He can’t take many chances, here. 

After a glance at his bank account (punctuated by an embarrassing whimper), Louis shuts his laptop and paces the flat, letting GBBO blast from the telly in the background. 

 

\--

 

Two mornings later, Louis checks his email from his phone, one eye cracked open against the glare of the screen. The notifications indicating he has _two_ responses to his post seem like part of a faraway dream. He forces both of his eyes open and lifts his head from the pillow, blinking furiously to wake himself up and read the replies. 

The first is from zmalik, a uni email address, signed as Zayn. He seems nice enough, maybe a bit friendlier than usual, from the short message: _Hey let me know if you still need a flatmate :) Can move in soon and I’m free whenever to come see it :) x_. The second is from a gmail account, and simply says, _Will you consider a couple for the room?_

Thinking back to the night before, only a few hours spent with Scott and Julie as they moved Scott’s things down into her car, Louis wrinkles his nose. They distracted each other multiple times during each trip down the stairs, pushing each other up against the doorframe or fridge and necking noisily until Louis would clear his throat or pointedly ask if they needed any help. That on top of hearing a couple fucking in the room next to his would absolutely do his head in. Even beyond that, three is literally a crowd in his flat; there’s room enough for two to squeeze around each other in the kitchen and living room, and that’s about it. 

Instead of replying to the couple just yet, Louis ignores them and opens an email to Zayn. _Yeah mate definitely come by. You can come today if you’re free, the other guy’s already moved out I just need to vacuum._ He tacks on _text me_ at the end of the message and types out his phone number before he sends it, praying something might actually come of this. 

 

\--

 

Zayn doesn’t text for three hours, but when he does, he says _Hi it’s Zayn, I can come today :)_ , and Louis whoops out loud in triumph. They plan for a 5pm meeting at the flat, late enough for Zayn to drop his little sister at home and still make the drive out, and Louis adds that to the checklist of things he knows about Zayn; they can at least bond over little sisters, if nothing else. 

Louis spends the day cleaning the empty room thoroughly, getting rid of any trash Scott left behind and vacuuming the carpet twice, just in case. He halfheartedly tidies up his own room, throwing his dirty clothes into the hamper and arranging the blankets in a semi-presentable manner, just because Zayn’ll have to pass through Louis’ room to see the loo. After he’s lazily wiped down the kitchen counters with a wet flannel and decided the place is sterile enough, he curls up on the sofa and watches the minutes tick by on the digital clock under his TV. 

Getting on with strangers is easy, but judging their character quick enough to tell if he’ll be able to stand living with them is not quite so simple. Everyone has secret quirks that don’t reveal themselves until several weeks into any living arrangement, and Louis is left hoping that potential roommates will be tolerable enough that he can stand them for longer than one term. He hasn’t got a great track record so far. Under the circumstances, he’s willing to settle for a less-than-ideal flatmate as long as they can pay their share, but he really knows next to nothing about Zayn. 

So, when 5 o’clock comes and goes and Louis continues watching the minutes tick until 5:43, he loses that tenuous strand of hope. Frustrated and feeling unforgiving, he texts Zayn, _If you’re having me on I’d like to know now so I can find someone else._ Five more minutes pass without a reply, and Louis huffs out a breath, heaving himself up off the couch, prepared to go find his laptop and see if anyone else has responded to his posting. 

Before he reaches his bedroom, there’s a series of quick knocks at the door of the flat. Louis pauses mid-stride to make sure the knocks are on his side of the hall - embarrassingly often, he’ll open his own door to find someone knocking at a different spot across the hall. His heart picks up when the knocks come again, definitely at his own door, his frustration quickly seeping away. 

A girl nearly his height is waiting outside when he opens the door, picking idly at the ends of her hair. She smiles when she sees him and straightens up, says, “Hi, sorry I’m so late.” 

Confused, Louis says, “Hi.” 

“I was gonna text you but my phone died on the way here,” she says, patting the side of the bag that’s slung over her shoulder. “And I got a bit lost and wasn’t sure where to park, so I had to walk a little ways.” 

“There’s a lot,” Louis says, distractedly, “parking. For residents. Sorry, are you— _You’re_ Zayn?” 

Her smile melts, and immediately her tone hardens. “Yeah? Is there a problem?” 

“No, nothing, that’s not, like… I honestly just thought you were a bloke,” Louis blurts out. 

“Oh, shit,” Zayn says. When she relaxes, she slumps down a few centimeters and works a hand through her hair. “Sorry, mate. The name confuses people, I shoulda clarified. Is that alright? Did you want just, like, a lads-only flat?” It sounds like she’s genuinely asking, but the corners of her lips have turned up again and Louis is finding that he needs more than a few seconds to process the idea. 

“Not a problem,” he says eventually, moving out of her way. “Come inside then, come see what may soon be yours. Please pretend I’m tidier than I look, though.” 

“I’m not tidy,” she assures him, stepping past him and into the flat. Louis quickly looks her over as he shuts the door, lingering on the tears in her tight, tattered jeans before coming up to be a proper host. 

“Right,” he says, gesturing grandly to the stretch of space on his left. “Here we’ve got the entertainment system. State of the art. Hundreds of thousands of channels, though mostly all you’re going to need is a household Netflix subscription and I’ve got that covered, graciously included in your monthly rent already. You’re welcome to hang out here as long as you like whenever you like, just be warned it gets quite cold in this room in the winter because the venting’s a little wonky. 

“And here,” he says, gesturing to the right, “is the kitchen area. Most dining takes place on the couch or your own bed, to be honest. Wash your own dishes after you use ‘em, that’s basically the only rule. And clean up if you spill shit.” 

“Think I can manage that,” Zayn smiles. She pulls the sleeves of her jumper down to cover her fingers, curiously eyeing the papers and magnets on the fridge. 

“Are you much of a sport fan?” Louis asks. “By sport I mean football.” 

Zayn makes a face that gives him his answer before she speaks. “Not really.” 

“X Factor?” 

“A bit into it,” she says. 

“Tolerance is all I need,” Louis says. “Like, if you can handle me yelling at the telly every once in a while.” 

“I’ll invest in some big headphones to block out the screams,” Zayn says. Louis huffs out a laugh and lets her explore for a moment, touching the countertop and fridge door with the tips of her fingers, reading the grocery lists and takeaway menus and sticky notes left by his mates. 

“Fair warning,” Louis says when she wanders her way back toward him, “the rest of the layout is a bit inconvenient. Like, dealbreaker inconvenient for some.” 

“Alright,” she says, sounding ambivalent. 

As he leads her through to the empty room, Louis explains, “So, I’ve got to go through your room to get to mine, and you’ve got to go through mine to get to the loo. It’s not exactly ideal, but I’ve usually got my door open and you can come in whenever to get through, so it doesn’t bother me much, but some people absolutely hate it.” 

“That’s not so bad,” Zayn says, walking along the walls of the room that might be hers. She stops and drags her fingertip across a hole in the drywall, left behind by a poster of Jeremy’s, the flatmate before Scott. “I thought you were about to tell me we’ve got no shower or summat.” 

“I wouldn’t even be living here if we had no shower,” Louis says. Zayn smiles again, to herself this time, peeking out the window to check on the view. Louis watches her, letting her take her time. 

She pauses when she reaches the door connecting this room to Louis’. “Can I?” she asks, touching the knob; when he nods, she pushes it open and glances around at his room before peering into the loo. “Aha, shower intact,” she says. 

“And functional,” Louis promises. “Hot water and everything.” 

“I like it, honestly,” Zayn says, turning to face him. She leans back until her shoulderblades touch the wall, looking at the decor on Louis’ walls. “I don’t know how fast people usually take these things.” 

Before he can stop himself, Louis replies, “Most people usually _do_ buy me dinner first.” Zayn laughs at him properly for the first time, at the stupidest line he’s thrown out so far, and tips her head back against the wall. 

“I’ve been looking for a place for ages, like, I’ve had my stuff packed for over a month by now. My job’s way closer to here than Bradford and I’m starting at the university next term so the location works…” 

“ _And_ I’m from Yorkshire,” Louis points out, shrugging as if to say that this should be Zayn’s deciding point. 

“I _thought_ so,” Zayn says. “Whereabouts?” 

“Doncaster,” Louis replies. 

Nodding, Zayn says, “Good enough for a fistbump, mate,” and holds out her fist. Louis laughs, touching his knuckles to hers, thumbing over the spot where one of her rings pressed when they pull back. 

“We can sit, if you like,” he says, gesturing to his bed. “Or back on the couch. Sorry I haven’t really got any chairs.” 

“You’re alright,” Zayn says. She pushes herself off the wall and settles on the edge of Louis’ mattress, crossing her legs and watching him as he comes to sit at the head of the bed, reminding himself that she’s a potential tenant. 

“What’ll you be studying in uni?” he asks, leaning back against his headboard to show her she can get comfortable. Zayn turns more to the side to face him, letting the strap of her bag slip off her shoulder. 

“English, I’m thinkin’,” she says. “I’m quite good at it and love reading and that. Might be a teacher.” 

“Rubbish at English, I am,” Louis sighs. “I’m thinking about teaching too, though, actually. Drama, maybe.” 

“You seem like you’d be good at drama. You’re quite animated,” Zayn smiles. 

“Keep the praise flowing and we’ll get on just fine,” Louis says. He watches her laugh and uncross her legs before recrossing them in the opposite direction, getting the blood flowing again. “You said you’ve got a little sister?” 

“Two! And an older one, as well.” 

“I’ve got you beat,” Louis says, sighing triumphantly. “ _Four_ little ones, so far, with one more on the way _and_ a little brother, finally.” 

“Twins?” Zayn asks, practically lighting up. 

“Two sets,” he says. 

 

\--

 

Zayn stays until half past 9, and leaves with a new key tucked into her pocket. 

 

\--

 

After a back-to-back day of lectures on Monday, exhausted from the mental workout and the walk home from campus, Louis arrives at the flat to find the door swung wide open as Zayn and two blokes he doesn’t recognize try to maneuver a mattress around the sharp corner to get into Zayn’s new room. 

“Hiya,” Louis says cautiously. 

“Oh, god, hi,” Zayn returns, slipping out from behind the mattress. “Sorry, I thought we’d be done before you got back!” 

“You’re alright,” he promises. There are a few cardboard boxes full of Zayn’s things stacked next to the kitchen counter, along with a ton of empty shop bags. He drops his books on the sofa and stretches. “Need help?” 

“I think they can handle it. You got it, lads?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” they say in unison, with the lilt of a joke to their voices, something Louis’ not in on. Zayn grins on her way over to Louis, reaching into her back pocket for a thin wad of bills. 

“330, yeah?” she asks, idly recounting the money before offering it to him. To his surprise, nearly her entire right arm is covered in ink, tattoos stretching all the way up and underneath the straps of her top, branching out towards her chest and her back. The last time he saw her, she had on long sleeves, covering all but the delicate outline of a bird tattooed onto the side of her hand. 

“Absolutely,” he confirms, taking the cash to slip into his own pocket. If Zayn caught him staring, she doesn’t let on. They both turn to follow her mates into her room, and Louis raises his eyebrows at how much they’ve got done already. Zayn’s got a dresser against one wall, an empty bookshelf right beside it and a desk set up right under the window, her own curtains already hanging over the dusty blinds that’ve been there since Louis moved in. The frame for her bed is set up right against the wall separating her room from his, and the taller of her friends hefts the box spring and mattress into place, flopping down face first once he’s finished. 

“You brought up all this yourself?” Louis asks; along with the boxes in the kitchen, there are multiple stacks in Zayn’s room, some on top of the desk and some shoved haphazardly into the tiny closet. 

“I’m actually about to pass out, mate,” the one on the bed says. He sounds muffled and exhausted, and Louis can empathize. “Danny’ll have to drive back, I’d put us straight in a ditch.” 

“You can head back if you need to,” Zayn tells them, giving him a pat on the bum. “Get some rest.” 

“Prob’ly ought to,” Danny says, leaning down to wrap his arm around Zayn’s neck. Louis averts his eyes out of politeness when Zayn turns to face him for a proper hug, but in his periphery he can still see Zayn step up onto her toes to accept a kiss on some part of her face from the man. Maybe her temple. Silently, he watches the nameless one rouse himself from Zayn’s mattress. 

“Coming home this weekend, yeah?” he asks, going in for his own hug. He’s even taller, and lifts her up off the ground for a second after Zayn gets her arms around his neck. 

“Yeah, I will,” she says. Louis looks away again, at his feet this time, when Zayn kisses his cheek. He’s outside their moment and feels awkward intruding, but escaping to his own room without a word would be even more uncomfortable. 

“Nice to meet you lads,” he says instead, nodding at Danny who’s already edging toward the door. 

“This obviously Louis,” Zayn says, belatedly. She pats the shoulder of the one she just hugged, “This is Ant, and that’s Danny. They’ll probably visit again. Eventually.” 

“Later, bro,” Ant says, and Louis nods again, making his escape when Zayn offers to walk them down the stairs. 

He finally gets into his bedroom but leaves the door open to listen for her return and hastily shucks off his trousers to get into a pair of soft pyjamas instead. Zayn isn’t gone long; Louis’ only left to fidget with the drawstring on his pyjama bottoms for a few seconds before he can hear her coming back up the stairs, two at a time. He’s standing aimlessly in the doorway between their rooms when she enters again, carrying one of the boxes from the kitchen. 

“Fancy a hand?” he asks, tying a quick double knot with the flimsy strings. 

Zayn huffs out a breath after she sets the box down next to her bed. “If you’d only been ‘round to ask that about three hours ago, mate,” she jokes. “I’ve only got a couple left, you’re alright.” 

“You’ll be done twice as quick with some extra manpower, then,” he says. She smiles at him as she heads back toward the kitchen and nods her in that direction, so Louis follows. 

There really are only a couple boxes left, literally, one large one stacked on top of a compact smaller one. Prepared to be chivalrous and welcoming to his new flatmate, Louis grabs the larger box, scrabbling at the bottom edges to hold it upright, and nearly staggers under its weight. 

“Oh, fuck,” he grunts, pausing to heft the box up higher and cling to it tightly to keep it from falling. Zayn’s watching him mildly, a little smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “Regretting it. Absolutely regretting it. _What_ is in this?” 

“Books,” she says, waiting for him to shuffle out of the way so she can grab the last box.

“Right, English,” he grits out, struggling to get in a good, deep breath. “Please tell me quick where to put these before I keel over.” 

“On the bed is fine,” she tells him, punctuating the sentence with a laugh when Louis groans again as he lets the box plop heavily on top of her naked mattress. “You shoulda seen me trying to get that up the stairs.” 

“ _You_ carried that one up?” Louis asks, incredulously; his arms are still burning from the weight, and there are deep indents in each of his fingers from the sharp edge of the cardboard cutting in. 

“Secret strength. I did boxing through college and my gap year.” Zayn pats the small bulge of her biceps, buried under the inked portrait of a monkey in a spacesuit. Louis’ eyes follow the line of tattoos all the way down to her side of her hand, the little bird he’s familiar with. She’s still holding the last box, propped up on her hip. 

“You could’ve warned me,” he says, finally. “I did musical theatre and football, not boxing. I’m not built for heavy lifting, to be honest.” 

Zayn crosses the few steps to stand beside him, setting her box next to the one he brought in. “You were so eager. Extra manpower and all, yeah?” 

The new angle at which she’s standing as she opens up the box of books gives Louis a voyeuristic peek at the skin under the strap of her tank top, darkened by shadow, where a skull wearing a hat is hidden. Beside it is what might be script, in a language he doesn’t recognize. Without thinking, he says, “You have got _loads_ of tattoos.” 

“I’m thinking of getting a massive tiger next,” she says, without missing a beat. She loads up an armful of books and walks around him to start stacking them into the bookshelf, starting on the shelf right in the middle. “On my left arm, maybe. Or my back. I kinda want to save my back though, don’t wanna run out of skin before I use up all my ideas.” 

With her back to him, Louis can see the strands of hair too short to reach the bundle of her ponytail, sticky with sweat against the back of her neck. Fanning out from under the neck of her top is what looks like a group of leaves, or maybe feathers, shifting with her skin when she moves. Louis carefully picks out a handful of books and asks, “How many more have you got hidden away already?” 

Zayn turns to look at him and glances down at his hands, reaching out for another book. There’s a long block of text tattooed onto the inner skin of her biceps. “Plenty.” She gives him a teasing half-smile and continues adding books, turning back to him again to start a good workflow, him passing and her stacking. “Have you got any?” 

“Not a one,” he admits, loading up on an armful to pass to her. “I’ll be honest, I usually don’t even like ‘em at all, not even the look of ‘em. Yours are sick, though. Maybe I’ve only seen dodgy ones up close.” 

“I’ve got a few, like, stick-n-poke ones,” she says, going up on her toes to start stacking books on the top shelf. “The _proper_ dodgy ones, literally with a needle and your hand. My ex did a couple, I did some on him as well. I got one covered, though.” When she turns this time, Louis extends his hand again with a book for her to take, but instead Zayn pulls up the hem of her top and shows him her bare hip, a filled-in black heart, the tip of it just barely brushing the line of bone that disappears into her jeans. 

“Well,” he says, eyes drifting toward the glint of plain silver at her navel before going back to the ink, “must’ve done a good job. Can’t see anything under there.” 

“Best not,” Zayn teases. She adjusts her top and takes the book from Louis’ hand, still mindlessly outstretched but sagging under the weight. “You oughta get one. Everyone should have at least one, I think.” 

“I don’t know about _that_. I’ll have the locks changed if I expect you to resort to peer pressure, miss. No refund for the month.” 

“Maybe you’re right,” Zayn agrees, “not sure you’d handle it well. After nearly dropping a measly few books… You might not be tough enough.” 

She’s smirking when she turns for her next book, lips stretched wide and pink and amused. “Insulting my masculinity is the cruelest form of reverse psychology,” Louis says. 

“What a sentence,” Zayn says. “Have you swallowed a dictionary of mine while I wasn’t looking?” 

“Changing the locks,” Louis repeats, loading her down with three books at once on the next turn in retaliation. 

 

—

 

Zayn turns out to be the easiest flatmate Louis’ lived with since moving away from home. She knocks and actually waits for him to reply before coming through to use the loo, which leads to her never walking in on him naked or mid-wank. The sprawl of hair and makeup products cluttering the sink feels like a grownup version of his home in Doncaster; name brand cosmetics are carefully lined in rows instead of neon bottles of glittery polish or tubs of edible shimmering gloss. Zayn reads in her room or in their shared living room, curled on one end of the sofa while Louis watches footie from the other end, easily ignoring all his shouts with a single-mindedness that Louis admires. 

The only weird bit is the sleeping thing. Or more accurately, the beds thing. 

There’s a single, thin wall separating Louis’ bed from Zayn’s bed, and the proximity is something he’s never thought about before. Louis is used to living with blokes. He knows every once in a while he’ll have to hear a muffled gasp or whine from someone his flatmate’s pulled, or dealing with the unwelcome blast of the radio while he’s attempting to finally do some of his coursework. 

With Zayn, though, he’s aware of the sheer amount of things he’s able to hear, and the things she could hear as well, if she were listening. He hears her half of every phone conversation she has, the rapid clacking of her laptop keyboard when she’s typing, even the rustling of her sheets when she turns over in bed some nights. He’s taken to wanking with his pillow pressed over his face, leaving only an ear uncovered, listening for movement on Zayn’s side of the wall, sure that she’ll hear his heavy breaths and the wet slide of his fingers over his cock as clearly as if she were lying right next to him. 

It takes practically three weeks of Zayn living in the flat before Louis realizes that his anxieties might be based in reality. 

At half past midnight, Louis wakes from where he was dozing with his laptop on his chest to the sound of a faint, pulsing buzz. Blearily, he blinks against the brightness of the screen in his dark room and tries to remember where he put his cell. The buzz is muffled, like it’s buried beneath blankets, so he gropes around underneath them to find his phone, careful not to let his laptop tip off into the floor. When he finds it, the screen is black and silent, no missed or currently incoming calls, but the buzzing continues. 

Confused, he tilts his head closer to the wall to hear if the sound is coming from Zayn’s side. He can’t really discern whether it gets louder or not, but he knows that it’s still going and it isn’t coming from his phone. Zayn might not have a voicemail set up, for a call to go on for such a long time. 

Suddenly the vibrating changes its pattern from a steady, quiet pulse to louder and continuous, accompanied by a hum that definitely comes from Zayn, and Louis has to assume that the noise isn’t an incoming call. 

As a general rule, Louis hasn’t had to deal with hearing his other flatmates getting off by themselves. Pulling someone at a club and bringing them home was different, nearly a badge of honor to be loud in that endeavor; jerking off alone in the middle of the night was less exciting, less likely to be a production meant for the neighbors to hear. He’s sure they wanked plenty, his past flatmates, but he never heard, and he doesn’t think that any of them had vibrators, either. 

His last girlfriend did. It would take her ages to come, sometimes, no matter how long he spent working her up beforehand or how thoroughly he fucked her, some days she’d end up sweaty and frustrated and upset, too turned on to calm down but unable to come. The vibrator helped, though. She bought it for herself, a tiny little thing no bigger than his index finger, not meant to be used inside. Louis learned a little more coordination with her, how to juggle keeping his balance while holding that toy up against her clit, learning her body’s tells and trying to time it so they could come together. 

The buzz from the other side of the wall doesn’t sound the same as the one Louis remembers with his ex. Theirs was _loud_ and strong, small but insanely powerful, enough that his fingers went numb by they time they were finished. He wonders if Zayn has a different kind - there were loads they went through on the websites before ordering, a massive variety of brands and prices. Might just be that she’s bundled under her blankets, trapping the sound; she could be naked, though, spread out with a vibrator built to be used inside, fucking herself slowly enough that he can’t hear a difference in the sound. 

He wouldn’t be able to hear a difference in any circumstance; the loudest thing now is the echo of his own pulse in his ears, his heart pumping enough blood to fill his cock and muddle his brain. Actively listening to her feels a bit sleazy, unfair to the girl he’s still getting to know, but _thinking_ of her touching herself with a hand in his pants doesn’t cross that fuzzy boundary, in his mind. 

Carefully, Louis closes the lid of his laptop and welcomes the darkness that envelops his room. He turns his face into his pillow and thinks of the tattoos he has yet to find on Zayn’s body, the stretches of skin he hasn’t gotten to see; he thinks of her thighs against his bare shoulders and his mouth against her cunt, the tip of his tongue tingling under the buzz of a vibrator pressed to her clit. 

 

\--

 

Breakfast isn’t different from usual. Zayn is up first and makes three slices of toast, two for her and one for him, and has already eaten through a piece and a half of her own by the time Louis ventures into the common area. Zayn’s holding the remaining bit of toast with her head tilted back against the sofa, eyes closed, a paper plate full of crumbs still in her lap. 

Louis cautiously places his hand on top of her head; Zayn doesn’t startle, just groggily opens her eyes. “Early shift,” she says miserably. 

“Do they still call ‘em early if it’s nearly noon?” 

“ _I_ do.” 

His piece of toast is balanced on top of the toaster, and he slathers a layer of mixed berry jam on one side before taking a bite. Zayn has closed her eyes again, but is chewing the last bites of her food while she rests. 

Really, Louis forgets that he got off to _Zayn_ getting off last night until he finds himself contemplating the tangles of hair he felt under his palm, imagining her slowly tossing her head from side to side, one hand up her top and the other under her knickers. He nearly drops the crust of his toast when she unfolds herself from the sofa to slip on her shoes, stumbling sleepily against the wall. Only luck keeps her eyes focused on Louis’ face as she waves goodbye, missing the hunch in his back and the steadily growing tent in his trackies. 

 

\--

 

The second time it happens, Louis knows right away that he’s not hearing his phone buzzing. 

Weeks have passed since the first time, edging on two, at least. Zayn’s waited now until Louis’ tucked himself into bed, all the lights from his room off so he could sleep. His lecture starts early tomorrow, 9am, and he’s been coaxing himself into a good schedule - in bed by midnight, asleep within the hour. It leaves him to wonder how many days Zayn’s used some toy between now and the first time, when he’s been properly asleep. 

She seems louder now. The first time, despite the guilty excitement he got from knowing what she was up to, he didn’t really hear much from her; this time Zayn gasps, and it sounds close enough that he can picture her head right across from his, only the wall stopping him from watching her face. 

The pit of his stomach clenches tight when Zayn allows herself a moan, muffled enough that it hardly sounds different from when she hums along to the music coming from her headphones. It’s leisurely, almost, like an orgasm is a luxury. Louis’ heard the differences; he’s fucked girls lazily and he’s fucked girls frantically, and when the second content hum of a moan comes from behind the wall, he recognizes the sounds of the former. 

It takes only seconds for his cock to start growing. There’s a long stretch of silence from Zayn’s room, but it doesn’t dampen his arousal. The ringing in his ears can’t distract him from the image he’s conjured on his own, of Zayn biting down on the knuckles of her free hand like he’s done to keep himself quiet, the other working between her legs. Louis turns his face away from the wall, exhaling into the open air of his bedroom, and buries his hand in his pants, one ear sharply focused on the sounds of the flat. 

Beyond the sporadic sighs that are heavy enough to carry into Louis’ room and the gentle buzz of Zayn’s vibrator, there’s not much to hear; still, it’s enough. He gets himself hard with increasingly firm squeezes and takes the frantic counterpoint to Zayn’s leisure, jerking himself in quick strokes. It’s illicit and guilty, makes him anxious and desperately aroused, determined to keep quiet enough that Zayn won’t hear him, too. The risk makes his face flush, cheeks hot to the touch when he drags a hand over his face, keeping firm fingers pressed against his lips as he brings himself closer. 

He comes quickly and uneventfully, but harder than he has in months. The mattress creaks under his weight as he jerks up into his hand, trying to catch everything that drips through his fingers and seeps into the front of his pants or onto his belly. He stays quiet. The buzzing from Zayn’s room hasn’t stopped; he hears the sound grow louder in his mind as he regains all of his faculties, the rush of blood in his ears becoming softer. 

As quietly as he can, Louis creeps out of his bed and toward the toilet. The carpeted floor of the bedroom muffles his footsteps, and he doesn’t bother closing the door once he gets inside, knowing the hinges squeak terribly. He flips on the light switch with his clean hand and grabs a fistful of loo roll instead of washing properly in the sink, mindful of how loud the pipes clang when turning on the faucet. He wipes his hand dry first before gently cleaning his cock, tucking it back into his pants afterward and using a clean corner of the roll to dab the spots he missed on his belly. 

When he turns to toss the handful into the bin, he finds Zayn leaning against the doorway. 

She’s never been less clothed in front of him. Her bra is pathetically thin, concealing only two tiny triangles of skin on her chest, not nearly enough to hide the points of her nipples; her knickers are twisted, settled crookedly on her hips. There’s a plethora of tattoos Louis’ never seen before: a wolf curled around her upper thigh, a pistol on her hip pointing toward the floor, a playing card stamped over her ribs. She looks nearly as conspicuous as he does, her hair frizzed and tangled on one side in particular, an easy flush along the top of her chest. 

Louis feels trapped, like an animal caught in a corner, and his face absolutely burns when Zayn’s eyes land on his pelvis, the wet patches on his pants. There’s no way to know how long she’s stood there, watching him clean the come from his body, knowing that he listened to her to get off. 

Zayn doesn’t linger long, glancing at his face before sliding past him to get to the sink, their bare shoulders brushing in the tiny room. She looks back at him as she begins washing her hands, perfectly casual, “You sleepin’ now?” 

“Uh,” Louis says, sidestepping out of her space. “Yeah, I think. Lecture.” When she turns her eyes back to her hands, he quickly tosses the filthy handful of tissues into the bin. 

Zayn hums and shuts off the water, shaking her hands to dry them. “Best wash up first,” she says, placing a wet palm against his lower back to gently guide him out of her way. Her fingers trail along his bare skin as she walks around him again to get out the door, leaving tiny rivulets of cool water to trail down his back and soak into the elastic band of his pants. “Night.” 

“Night,” he echoes mindlessly, staring after her.

 

\--

 

Immediately upon arriving home following his lectures the next afternoon, Louis bounds up the stairs two at a time, keys already out to unlock the door. He sheds his coat, bag and the handful of keys onto the floor of the living area and heads straight to the toilet, groaning in despair when he sees it shut and hears the spray of the shower. 

“Zayn!” he says, cracking the door enough to poke his head through. 

Across the room, she mirrors him by sticking her own head out from behind the shower curtain. “What’s up?” 

“How much longer? I desperately need a wee,” he pleads. He hasn’t spoken with Zayn since last night, having sneaked out in the morning to make it to his classes before she was even awake. Their conversation taking place now in the loo seems weirdly fitting. 

“Just gonna rinse out my hair is all. Could you not have taken a wee before?” 

“It wasn’t so bad then! I thought I could hold it! I haven’t got the strength, I’ll just go in the sink or summat.” 

“You’ll _not_ go in the sink!” Zayn says shrilly, “There are dishes in there! Just come in before it gets on the carpet.” 

Jittery with the need to empty his bladder but still vaguely uncomfortable about their last encounter, Louis lets himself fully into the room. “I might have performance anxiety.” 

Behind the curtain, Zayn laughs. “No need for that, is there? Think of it like a urinal, except I haven’t got a cock to compare sizes with.” 

“Not nearly as thrilling as a real urinal then, is it?” he asks. The sounds of Zayn rinsing her hair drown out the sounds of him using the toilet, and just as he’s finishing and exhaling with relief, the shower shuts off as well. 

Louis hastily tucks himself back into his clothes and zips up his trousers, heading for the door, but Zayn says, “Pass me a towel, yeah?” 

Looking between the rack and where Zayn’s popped her head out again, Louis hands her the only towel left. After she accepts it, she holds it across her chest and immediately opens the curtain, only wrapping the towel completely around herself after she steps out onto the floor. 

“Wash your hands as well, you animal,” she teases, just as he’s about to escape for the second time. “I can’t handle living with a man who’s got hygiene habits like yours.” 

“ _Excuse_ me, you specifically said at the beginning of this arrangement that you’re not a cleanly woman, either.” Obediently, Louis hunches over the sink to wash his hands, focusing on his soaped fingers rather than Zayn in the mirror. 

“I meant I’m not good about picking up after myself,” she says, “not that I tend to forget to wash my hands after touching myself.” 

Quietly, Louis shuts off the water and lets his dripping fingers hang over the sink, realizing Zayn has the only towel wrapped around her torso. She hooks her chin over Louis’ shoulder, just barely going up on her toes to reach. 

“So are we mentioning that, then?” he asks, looking up into the mirror above the sink to see Zayn watching him and not their reflection. 

“If you’d like to mention it,” she says. The long tangle of her hair has draped itself against his upper arm, soaking through the sleeve of his top. 

“Not sure that I would,” he says honestly, feeling his face burn like it had last night. 

Zayn’s hands both come to settle on his hips, and even more embarrassingly, Louis’ body responds to the touch. Zayn is always tactile, half-hugging him in passing and stroking the prickly hair growing along his jaw, but the touches are usually fleeting. 

“I’m not cross about it,” she tells him. 

Louis scoffs slightly, pressing himself up closer to the sink, trapping his cock against it and hoping it’ll hurt. Zayn’s body follows him. “I really don’t know why not. I feel like a bit of a pervert, to be honest.” 

In the mirror, he watches Zayn smile. “It’s quite perverted,” she agrees. “I could’ve been quieter, though. Could’ve also shut the door first.” 

This time, Louis turns his head to face her straight on. “The door was open?” 

“The door was slightly open,” Zayn confirms, looking amused. She inches her face closer to his, sliding one of her hands to his belly. “I think it worked out alright, though. You got to hear a bit, I got to see a bit…” 

“How much is ‘a bit’, exactly?” Louis asks, not positive that he really wants to know. 

“Well, I’m sure it would’ve been a better show had I not seen the, like, final credits. As it were.” 

“Oh god,” Louis sighs. Despite the awkward angle, he tilts further to the side to nudge his forehead against Zayn’s, humming when she moves in closer to meet him. “This isn’t getting you reduced rent, by the way.” 

Frowning, Zayn all but headbutts him. “Oughta be down to 310 a month, I think. I didn’t even get to see it hard.” 

“Zayn!” he exclaims, momentarily shocked by how blatant she can be. Recovering and ignoring her laughter, he says, “That can be remedied quite quickly.” 

“Let’s have it, then,” she murmurs, sounding more serious now. Using her various grips on his body, Zayn turns him to face her more fully but kisses him before he gets the chance to completely spin around. 

Louis gets distracted from the feel of her mouth by how cold his back suddenly seems, without her body pressed against him now. He lets himself touch her and finds her shoulders still warm from the shower, her skin soft and damp. Even with his eyes closed he knows that he’s feeling over several of the pictures inked onto her body, but every bit of skin is just as smooth as the rest, no indentations or raised scars to hint at what tattoo he might be touching. 

The kisses come in quick succession, two and three stretching into ten and twelve until they all meld together, no longer able to be counted. Zayn seems shorter like this, when he’s still wearing his shoes and she’s barefoot on the tile, gently craning her neck to reach his lips. She’s slow with her kisses and sensual with her hands, rubbing them up Louis’ sides and around his back, pulling him close to her; it makes him want to touch her more completely, but the loosely tucked towel keeps him feeling only the places that are uncovered, like the lengths of her arms and the sides of her face. 

“You feel overdressed,” she whispers into his chin, kissing there and lower until she reaches his throat, resting the strained muscles in her own neck. 

“I really think you’re the one that’s _underdressed_ , darling,” he says, taking the opportunity to lick his lips and catch his breath. Zayn huffs a tiny laugh against him but still works her busy hands underneath his shirt, holding onto his hips again. 

“Take it off,” she says. She gets him started, slowly working the hem of his top up over his stomach until he takes over, at the same time turning herself so that she can squirm up on top of the sink. Once Louis obeys and pulls the shirt over his head, they’re eye-to-eye. 

Zayn tugs him back in by his shoulder, spreading her legs for him to step between them. The towel around her gets pulled apart by the movement as well, steadily exposing a strip of skin that grows from Zayn’s upper thigh all the way to her hip, with only a flimsy flap of fabric between her and him. Louis places a hand low on her thigh and traces the outline of her wolf tattoo, feeling his fingertips leech the warmth from her body. 

She does nothing to stop him, curiously watching the path of his fingers; Louis can hear her breath coming more quickly the higher he touches. He pauses once he reaches the tip of the black heart tattooed on her hip and curls his whole hand around the bone, looking up to her face. Zayn looks back at him at the same moment and leans in to kiss him again, holding him by the back of the head. Louis brings his other arm around to pull her closer this time, wrapping around her back, until he feels their chests press together. The damp cotton of the towel drags against his nipples, just as he imagines it’s dragging against Zayn’s as well; he suddenly stifles a soft groan into her mouth, wanting to pull the towel away to feel her bare against him, naked under his hands. 

Instead, he waits, letting Zayn’s tongue lick against his while she rubs his back, dragging her hands down and up again repeatedly. She’s close enough to his cock that he can feel the heat from her even through his trousers, so different from the cold and unyielding porcelain of the sink just below. When Louis takes her lower lip between his teeth, Zayn whines and slides closer to him, nearly pressing their groins together. 

“C’mon,” she mumbles, hooking her legs around the back of Louis’; her heels in the hollows of his knees makes him stumble forward, legs feeling weak. Zayn brings her hands around to start undoing his trousers, popping the button out of its hole, and Louis sucks in a breath. “Still haven’t got my show yet, have I?” 

“Bloody greedy,” Louis says, tipping forward to kiss Zayn’s chest as she works at pulling down the zip of his jeans. After she gets it out of the way and finds him already hard, Zayn doesn’t hesitate to get her fingers around what she can from the angle, squeezing tight. 

Groaning, Louis grabs a fistful of the towel and tugs it away, bending down further to get his mouth on peak of Zayn’s nipple as soon as it’s revealed. She gasps and twists against him, trying to keep her hand on his cock as well as his mouth on her nipple, but in the end she selfishly chooses to grip the sink with both hands and give Louis more access to her body, like he’d hoped she would. 

With the towel stripped away, trapped between Zayn’s body and the sink, Louis finds it hard to do anything but put his mouth on her; he lowers himself down onto his knees on the tile floor and sucks at her nipple until he hears her whimper before moving to the other side to do the same. It doesn’t take Zayn long to move her hands from the sink to his hair, pulling more tightly the lower he goes as he starts to kiss down her stomach. 

“Want you to fuck me,” she pants, even as she spreads her legs for him when his mouth reaches her hips. He doesn’t respond yet, distractedly looking along the length of her body, mostly between her legs. The light in the room is harshly bright and fluorescent, making it easy for him to see for himself that she’s wet, something he usually only knows once he’s used his fingers. Louis spreads her cunt open with his thumbs and swallows back a sound at how tightly Zayn grips his hair, leaning forward to lick right at the center of her for a taste before sliding up to her clit. 

The moan that Zayn gives sounds like it was surprised out of her; she quickly squirms forward into his touch and scratches at his scalp, whining when he suckles at her clit more gently than he did her nipples. Inside his pants, Louis’ cock is absolutely aching, hard enough that he’s beginning to feel lightheaded. He replaces his thumbs with the first two fingers of one hand to keep Zayn spread for his tongue, using his freed hand to pull out his cock for some relief. The moment he gives himself a few jerks, he groans right against Zayn’s cunt, licking her more firmly. She pushes the hair away from his face and he looks up at her in response, watching her heaving breasts and the frantic look she’s wearing. 

“C’mere, please, fuck me,” she says again, more desperately this time. Louis gives her one last lick, unbearably turned on at how wet she’s gotten, before getting back on his feet. 

Immediately, Zayn reaches for his cock and leans in to kiss his mouth at the same time. Louis gasps into the kiss and lets her suck his tongue into her own mouth, moaning properly when she rubs the bare tip of his cock against her cunt. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps, gripping onto her hips, “condom?” 

Zayn shakes her head, panting slowly, and Louis looks down to watch her rub his cock straight against her clit. “Got an IUD, just don’t come in me,” she says, pushing him down lower until he’s just beginning to slip inside. “Alright?” 

“Alright with me, shit,” he says, cautiously sliding forward, drunk with how good it feels the deeper he gets inside Zayn’s body. 

“ _Yeah_ ,” she encourages, nearly soundless, hooking her legs around him again; Louis steps closer to let himself push fully into her, moaning in tandem when he’s made one full stroke. “Fast,” Zayn whispers, “fast, you won’t hurt me.” 

Louis kisses her instead of replying, mouth against her jaw and cheek as he pulls out and slides back in again, the thrust slick and easy despite how tightly Zayn’s muscles clench around his cock. She moans her approval and leans back further, pushing her hips forward; Louis takes her at her word, starting a pace as quick as he thinks he can keep up. No matter where he looks, the setting makes everything seem more risky and even more arousing; in the mirror, he sees the flush that’s taken over his chest and neck and how tightly his nipples have hardened, and to his left he sees the door open straight into his room, the window uncovered and facing the street outside. 

Zayn moans loudly at a particularly rough thrust, reaching behind her to get a better grip on the sink, and knocks over several bottles and pencils of makeup; some of them clatter onto the floor and some pool in the sink beneath her, caught on the abandoned towel. Neither of them move to stop, Zayn digging the nails of her other hand into the back of Louis’ neck as he tries to keep up with a rougher pace to make her moan again, his breaths coming quick and labored now. 

The front of his jeans will surely end up wet, Louis thinks, listening to how loud it sounds when he fucks into Zayn, how slick they both are now. His trousers are still nearly on, not even down past his bum, only his cock out; his balls are trapped in his pants still, but the tightness and the constraint only serves keeps him on the edge. It’s hot, thinking of the contrasts, of Zayn naked under his hands and him clothed and restrained in comparison. 

He wants to help her along, to rub her clit or even lick it if he was nimble enough, but his hands are busy keeping Zayn in place on the sink so she doesn’t fall, and she seems distracted enough that it’s not even a consideration yet. Her head is tilted back against the mirror now, her wet hair leaving streaks of condensation on its surface as she’s jostled by his thrusts; her breasts bounce in the same way, tempting enough that he leans down to suck at one of her nipples again. 

“I’m close,” she whines, the bite of her nails against his neck becoming so sharp that he winces, jerking forward roughly into her. “ _Yeah_ , like that,” she moans, moving her hand back to grip his hair just as tightly as she’s gripping the side of the sink. 

Louis desperately tries to hold back his own orgasm, fucking Zayn as hard as he dares, encouraged by how her sounds increase in volume as he does. He knew going in, literally, that he couldn’t last long, but now knowing that he can make Zayn come this way but that he can’t come inside her at the same, it feels like the time’s been cut in half. Every push forward brings him closer to his orgasm, but he forces it down, groaning in the back of his throat as Zayn keeps getting tighter around him. 

“C’mon, love, come on,” he says, panting hard, still trying to keep the strength behind his thrusts that’s bringing her closer. Zayn whines again, shifting her legs around his hips together tighter so that she can let go of the sink to rub her clit in quick little circles. The sight makes Louis’ stomach drop with sheer arousal and he closes his eyes to avoid coming until after Zayn does, digging his fingers into her hips. 

He can tell when she starts to come by the needy pulsing of her cunt around him, the feeling that comes long before she moans aloud with it. It feels like he’s been riding the edge of orgasm for hours now, _days_ , and it becomes nearly impossible to hold back with Zayn writhing underneath him. Louis waits as long as he can, pumping into her a handful of times before he has to pull out, starting to come before he even gets a hand on himself. Zayn moves her hand to touch him as well, and Louis lets go of his cock to hold onto the sink to keep from falling; Zayn jerks him quickly through it, just as fast as he’d been fucking her, letting his come streak across her wrist, hip and thigh before he’s finished. 

It’s surreal, afterward. Louis tries to catch his breath, slumping forward to bury his face in Zayn’s neck while she still strokes his cock until he starts going soft. She kisses his temple and his forehead, making no move to push him away while she wipes herself clean with an edge of the towel still stuck under her body. She rubs his back once she’s finished, still letting him lean on her, and laughs. 

“You still breathing, babe?” 

“Don’t think so,” Louis replies. When he tries to push himself away from her, his legs shake. “I’m not gonna lie, I think I really need a lie down after that.” 

“Let’s lie down, then,” Zayn says. She slides forward until she’s standing on the floor again, looking a bit shaky herself. “That’s alright, yeah? I could do with a good cuddle, myself.” 

“I figured you’d be a cuddler,” Louis says. When he steps away from Zayn and looks down at himself, cock still out, he frowns. Like he imagined, the crotch of his trousers is damp from the both of them. “Should we put some clothes on?” 

“Just put on some new pants,” she replies, patting Louis’ bum. “And come to my bed.” 

Already kicking off his jeans and pants, Louis nods. Zayn walks out first and heads straight for her own room, dirty towel still hanging over the sink. With his trousers at his ankles and his breath just come back, Louis exhales for a long minute and shakes his head before leaving his clothes on the floor and starting to search for a pair of joggers to slip on. 

Zayn’s scrolling through her phone in her bed, wearing a long t-shirt and possibly nothing else. She smiles at him and pats the sliver of mattress between herself and the wall, and Louis doesn’t even complain at the lack of space; instead, he crawls up gratefully and tucks himself against Zayn’s body, always fond of a good cuddle after sex. 

Still, though, feeling overwhelmed, he rests his head against Zayn’s shoulder. “Well, that was not how I expected my afternoon to go. I imagined I’d accidentally wee all over meself on the way up the stairs and have to come up with a story for you about how a car ran into a large puddle right beside me coincidentally.” 

“Quite a suspicious puddle splash,” Zayn says, setting her phone on her belly. “Very concentrated on the groin area.” 

“Good thing _that_ didn’t happen.” 

“Good thing,” Zayn agrees softly, smiling again. She curls her arm around him and reaches up to pet his hair, looking over his face. 

“I’m gonna be honest,” Louis says, unable to ignore the little soundbites he keeps replaying in his head under Zayn’s sweet gaze. “I’m not great at one-time things. _But_ I am gonna try very much to not let things get strange. You’re quite a good flatmate, actually.” 

“Thanks,” Zayn smiles. “We’re a bit alike, I think. You’re quite a good flatmate, as well. And I’m not very great at one-time things either.” 

“No?” 

“Nope,” she says. “Maybe we oughta make it, like, not a one-time thing. A multiple-time thing instead.” 

Louis watches her face, finding himself smiling back at her. “Are you gonna take me on a date, then?” 

“I’ll take you to the cinema, maybe. Give you a kiss on the cheek and send you on your way at the end of the night.” 

“Mm, good plan,” Louis agrees. “I don’t put out on the first date.” 

“Oh, me either,” Zayn says seriously. She kisses him just between the eyes and Louis tilts his head up afterward to catch another on his lips. 

After, he says, “Rent’s still 330.”


End file.
